


There is always love

by punchdrunkard (twopunch)



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Blood Angels, Ciaphas Cain - Freeform, Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Damnation Crusade, Deathwatch - Freeform, Drabble Collection, Eisenhorn trilogy, Gaunt's Ghosts, Horus Heresy, Legio Invicta, Love, Multi, Soul Drinkers, The Mournival - Freeform, Titanicus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopunch/pseuds/punchdrunkard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite everything else, there is love in the Imperium of Mankind.</p><p>21 100-word drabbles covering various WH40K fluff, see notes and tags for details.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is always love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Cotton Candy Bingo Challenge](http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) for the prompt: I LOVE YOU ([table here](http://twopunch.dreamwidth.org/4807.html))
> 
> I challenged myself to have each section hit 100 words (the intro/outro are divided 50/50). The CSM one was an outlier amongst all the loyalist meanderings, but I liked the idea and therefore I'm indulging myself by keeping it amongst the rest. It was more in line with my initial plans to have more chaos-aligned sections, but those got replaced as I'm more familiar with loyalist fluff.
> 
> Works covered are: The Horus Heresy series, the Eisenhorn trilogy, Gaunt’s Ghosts series (His Last Command), Swallow's Blood Angels series, Counter's Soul Drinkers series*, Heart of Rage*, Mission: Purge (audiodrama, forgive the possibly misspelled names), the Ciaphas Cain series, Damnation Crusade, and Titanicus. 
> 
> There are major spoilers for the titles marked with an * (here and below). I’m sorry there’s not an easier way to help you skip them.

Amongst the pain and misery, the death and extinction, there is love in the Imperium of Mankind.

It may be love for another, for duty, for the God-Emperor. From the first time we fill our lungs, to the last gasp as we slip into the light.

There is always love.

\-----

_A line for me and a line for you_

He knew how it would start, and how it would end. This didn’t make the pain of losing them any less, nor did it taint the overwhelming joy of discovering them each time.

Of course, the first was special. Still a child, free from the hurts and scars that came with growing up and not knowing what you were.

“I am your father,” he said, unable to keep the wonder of it all from his voice.

Horus looked up at him in adoration. “Father,” he said, eyes bright and shining.

His son’s hands were small and warm in his own.

\--

_The Flawless Host is Flawless_

“I am,” said Narcissus to his reflection, “one damn fine specimen of my species.”

He turned his head this way and that, charmed by the beautiful face.

“Nothing against the gifts that are my power armour and weapons,” he said, “but the Imperium and their corpse-god did their best work when they made me.”

The pool of blood was beginning to dry. Perfection faded from sight.

“Now that just won’t do,” he said to the prisoners huddled in the corner. He picked up his knife and grinned, seeing his reflection. Being perfect was hard work, but he was worth it.

\--

_Breakfast in Bedde_

“I will apologise,” Lion said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Luther said, “I’ve already spoken to the people, they understand.” It wasn’t quite true. He hadn’t told them the real reason their homes had burned.

Lion’s eyes were cold, assessing.

“Then I apologise to you,” said Lion. Colour stained his cheeks. “I wished to make you breakfast, and now you have had none at all.”

“I accept your apology,” Luther replied. He ruffled Lion’s hair, hugged the boy. After a moment, Lion put his own arms around Luther’s waist and squeezed. A bloom of warmth in Luther’s chest smothered his doubts.

\--

_Rats and Dogs_

In the morning, there was a dead rat with a mangled purple ribbon knotted around its neck.

While there were certainly rats on _Pride of the Emperor_ , for all its standards, it was unlikely one could have made it all the way up from the deepest decks, eluding the detection of servitors, civilians, military, Astartes, and Phoenix Guard alike, to die beribboned on his doorstep.

Fulgrim sighed. At least Curze had both gutted and exsanguinated it. He made a mental note to change tonight’s lesson from modern weaponry to gifting etiquette.

He was glad there were no dogs on board.

\--

_Promises, Promises_

Space Wolves. They always have to take that extra mile, whether it be fighting, drinking, or keeping promises. No matter what time, what place, no matter how inappropriate the situation, a Space Wolf was always going to do what they liked, and insist they were the best while doing it.

So Secor wasn’t surprised when a few hours after they’d escaped from their latest catastrophe, Harik made good on his threat. Promise. Whatever.

“I’ve had better,” Secor said, gasping, when they stopped. Harik growled, shoved him back against the bulkhead, and tried again.

 _Definitely better without the beard_ , Secor thought.

\--

_Only a fool refuses the Emperor’s blessing_

Fischig sat on his cot and stared at the gun in his hands. The aquila icon shone a warm, dull gold in the candlelight.

He had a duty, as a citizen, as a friend.

He had made a promise. Two promises. One to faith and duty, one to loyalty and love. There was no conflict between them.

This should have been the easiest judgement he’d ever made in his career. The evidence was clear, the proof was solid, the witness was trustworthy. He would get a direct confession, but the conclusion was not in doubt.

He felt like a traitor.

\--

_Chapter Master_ *

“He’s depressed,” said Graevus, “because he only has two legs.”

Luko and Graevus watched the sea of Immaterium swirling in the sky above their heads, contemplating the circumstances that had brought them here. Sometimes there were shapes in the madness, barely recognised before they became another elusive nightmare.

“There they are,” Luko said, pointing down the valley. They watched the spindly creatures scuttle over the undulating sands. After a moment: “They look about the right size.”

“Would he accept them?”

Luko frowned, considering. “He is our chapter master. He needs all his legs.”

They went down the valley, blades drawn.

\--

_Gifts_

Adamantium is not the strongest material available, but Vulkan doesn’t think his brothers would appreciate a brooch that weighed more than their armour. He fashions each circular disc paper-thin and uses a tiny hammer made specially for this work. The quiet chimes of repoussé and chasing fill his forge with a music more beautiful to his ear than the ones made when crafting for war. He lets that guide his thoughts on his distant siblings as he fashions their sigils. He designs each piece to interlock with the next, so that put together they are twenty layers of unbreakable unity.

\--

_Seconds_

He watched them together, watched her laugh and shake her head at some no doubt stupid comment typical of Meryn. That idiot, at least, hadn’t changed in the slightest. Jessi though... she looked happy. Happier than when he’d been with her, another life ago.

 _Someone ought to be happy_ , he thought. Life could end so suddenly, so violently, that there should be a balance.

He ghosted back into the shadows and left the two of them alone. Only a single bullet holding a lock of twisted hair in its casing left any indication that another had been there at all.

\--

_Sweet and Bitter_

The stars rotate outside the glass dome of the deposed king’s anti-gravity planetarium. Horus sat on nothing, a covered bowl in his hands and Sanguinius’s head in his lap, watching a city burn.

Taking advantage of the lack of need for chairs, Sanguinius was stretched out supine, wings trailing into the air beneath him. He allowed Horus to feed him pomegranate seeds, one by one from sticky fingers. The ripe seeds burst on his tongue, cool and sweet.

Horus leaned down to taste them on Sanguinius’s lips. They left the faintest trace of blood and bitter pith in his mouth.

\--

_I Will Do Well_ *

Kale’s genehanced brain runs through a million calculations, possibilities, and sheer fantasy during the first few seconds of watching the expanding ball of fire that used to be a hive ship and his squad. Already he is moving, opening his mouth to give orders for a full search and recovery. A son of Sanguinius would not go down that easily.

Something -- someone -- brushes across his mind, an achingly familiar touch full of warmth, regret, pride, acceptance, love. Then it is gone, and he is alone.

He stops. He makes the sign of the aquila, and lets Nord go.

\--

_Start with a warm pot of tanna_

He could taste bile on his tongue already. He’d never endured any short-haul shuttle flight with aplomb, but a short-haul shuttle flight in what looked and proved to feel like four sheets of wobbly metal held together by the grace of the God-Emperor alone didn’t help the rebellion in his stomach much either.

He’d struggled with his options for all of five seconds. His secret stash of supplies was running low, they were out of tanna leaves, and his commissar must have his tea to drink and sandwiches to eat. Jurgen couldn’t bring himself to let Cain have anything less.

\--

_And the world will turn without you_

There is only pain. Screaming pain that he cannot express, that fires along every phantom nerve of a body that no longer exists except in memory. He remembers the scent of burnt metal, the chunk and kick of a bolter in his hand, the warm touch of a battle-brother’s skin against his own. This, too, is pain. Everything he will never have, acted out endlessly in his dreams and in the too-bright moments of waking when he is called up to serve again and again. Sleep is much easier.

“Tankred wakes!” he still roars, because he won’t let them down.

\--

_Everyone’s a critic_

Noxx couldn’t tell if it was a joke. He had thought he was beyond despair, but the universe proved yet again that there were always greater depths to plunge. He struggled to say something positive. As a Flesh Tearer, this was a herculean task. If only blood, or flesh, or tearing had been involved...

Alas, unless he wanted to duel Rafen again, there would be no respite in the foreseeable future.

Who was he kidding, he’d prefer to brawl with Rafen any day, any time, than spend another second trying to appreciate Rafen’s velvet painting portrait of Sanguinius.

“It sucks.”

\--

_Silver Blues_

It wasn’t a complicated piece to make, only time-consuming and, in Ferrus Manus’s opinion, pure vanity. It was made of electrum, which he thought was appropriate. A good fifty-fifty mix, with just a faint blush of yellow in the strands that made it look like the real thing.

He had often criticized Fulgrim for the effort he put into his appearance. However, he couldn’t deny the difference it made in his brother’s confidence when Fulgrim put on the damn wig. It not only covered the still-healing scalp, but it was a strange relief to have Fulgrim look like himself again.

\--

_Brothers in blood and arms and everything except birth_

“Oo, that’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” Torgaddon said with a sympathetic wince and an amused grin. The battle-cage was doubling as a gladiatorial arena as usual, and Astartes in and out of armour were the raucous audience.

The Mournival watched the melee from the comfort of some crates they had stacked up against the wall earlier. Aximand had given them a dirty look when he saw that, realising they’d been expecting the various tensions and jibes to come to this.

Aximand soundly beat those jealous of his elevation without breaking a sweat. His brothers, of course, expected no less from him.

\--

_Always the bridesmaid_

Tarik wasn’t sure what Nero Vipus was trying to convey with his fierce glare and folded arms; he didn’t think Vipus had any psychic ability, and Tarik was no mind-reader himself. It was all terribly awkward and not in a funny story kind of way.

“Let me get this straight,” Tarik said, scratching his chin. “You want to know if I’m... ‘stringing Garvi along’?”

“That’s _Brother-Captain Loken_ to you,” Vipus said coldly. “Show some respect. If you’re really serious about him, then maybe you’ll deserve that familiarity. Maybe.”

Tarik blinked. He wondered if he’d overlooked a detail in their relationship.

\--

_Performance_

Below, the crowd gasped, equal parts fear and awe. Kara twisted through the air invincible, untouchable, superhuman. Tendons stretched, she landed, rolled; muscles flexed, and she leaped up, was airborne again, arms and fingers outstretched as they sought out the next hold. Her form was impeccable; it couldn’t not be. Years of necessity and practise had ingrained each movement into her body. This was as easy as breathing. This was being alive.

Her vox-bead crackled into life, bringing the curtain down on her moment.

“Got the last of them,” Nayl said, his voice never less welcome than now. “Mission accomplished.”

\--

_I’ve got a thing for you_

 _One of ours would never have been so ignorant to the situation_ , Lau thought dispassionately as he took the lifter up. He knew the rest of Invicta thought the same thing, having seen the pict capture of the incident. Anyone who’d been through real war with the great engines learned that the relationship between a princeps and moderati was special. In a venerable titan like _Dominatus Victrix_ , that relationship was inviolable. This link had been severed violently, and then terminally. To speak ill of one when the other was shocked and grieving, still high on battle emotion... _He should’ve known._

\--

_Take It With Me When I Go_

Dorn wore the cloak more often than he should, and slept under it every night. He knew it was a weakness, this sentimentality, this stubborn refusal to put it away and let it go.

It was impossible that any trace of Inwit or his grandfather lingered in the fibres after so long. Still, when he wrapped it around his shoulders and nuzzled the ruff of fur, he remembered the pride and affection it symbolized, the dreams and ambitions they’d shared.

Though Dorn no longer believed in spirits, he liked to think he was showing his grandfather the stars this way.

\--

_There is no understanding without sacrifice_

Was it worth it?

He had seen this outcome, and gambled anyway. As Horus met his eyes -- eyes clear and aware, as he remembered them -- he knew his son understood, both what he had done and what he was now asking.

The pain in his being was not from the battle just fought, nor from agony soon to be endured. The pain was for all of mankind, for how much he wanted to give them and couldn’t. They were all his children, in the end. He would do anything for them.

He loved them.

They were worth it.

\-----

It comes to us in many shapes and forms. It is physical, emotional, and more. It is selfish, selfless, and everything in between.

There is love in the works of man in this universe, there is love in the light and the shadow of the Emperor.

There is always love.


End file.
